Flash Point

by Kenneth Andrus

  “We still don’t have a clear idea what assets the Chinese have deployed. Aerial photography has identified two 1,200-ton supply vessels and a Dazhi-class survey/submarine support ship.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Our aircrew was at the end of their search pattern, but managed to image the airfield on Fiery Cross Reef. They identified heavy construction equipment the analysts surmise will be used to complete upgrades. The strip will soon be capable of handling large transport aircraft and Su-30 interceptors.”

  Medeiros tapped the chart in front of him. Even with the upgrades, it would be months before any Su-30 squadron deployed from Fiery Cross. “Admiral, what’s the status of your forces?”

  “The few serviceable vessels are committed to patrolling the Southern Islands supporting our counter-insurgency operations. The only realistic long-term option we have is diplomacy.”

  “Regrettably, I must agree. But a short-term response to Beijing’s actions is another question altogether.” Medeiros looked at of his colleagues in turn. “Isn’t it?”

  The senior staff nodded their heads. To a man, they understood there could be no further delay if they were to prevent the PLA’s actions in Philippine waters from becoming a fait accompli. They had to move decisively with whatever assets they could mobilize if they were to deter the Chinese.

  “Thank you, gentlemen. Shall we review our options and put muscle in our government’s protests?”

  Medeiros’ eyes focused on a map of the Pacific. “Perhaps we can also find a way to involve the Americans.”

  Chapter 4

  MANILA

  19:40 TUESDAY 28 JANUARY

  “Hello? Yes, this is Ms. Lynne. Yes, certainly. Twelve thirty tomorrow afternoon? I’ll be there. Thank you. Good night.”

  ABC’s Manila correspondent, Marie Lynne, topped off her glass of chardonnay. She took a sip, reflecting on the unexpected call and the events of the past week. It would have been helpful to know why she was extended the invitation, but her caller gave no hint about what to expect. She surmised the meeting had something to do with the Chinese.

  * * *

  She was no closer to an answer when she pulled into the portico of the Manila Hotel the next afternoon. She set the brake, exchanged her car key for a parking receipt, and entered the lobby. The click of her heels on the marble tile caused a few heads to turn in mild curiosity, changing to active interest as she walked to the dining pavilion. She was conscious of the effect her entrance caused, but her mind remained focused on the meeting with the Foreign Ministry’s representative.

  There existed a quid pro quo between the Ministry and their resource in the press. The arrangement offered distinct advantages to both parties; the tradeoff of access to exclusive inside information by the reporter for the dissemination of a favorable viewpoint for the government.

  The Minister of Foreign Affairs considered Lynne a reliable source for channeling the government’s viewpoints to Washington. Her worth was not lost on him. He would tune into the network to check the pulse of the world, and he understood the value of the American broadcasting giant’s global reach.

  Lynne saw her friend Raul Atencio rise to greet her, delighted the Foreign Ministry had sent him.

  “How are you, Raul?” she said, offering her hand.

  “Very well. And you?”

  “Couldn’t be better. It’s great to be back in Manila after Mindanao. The situation there is still very dangerous.”

  Taking advantage of President Montalvo’s cease-fire with the main separatist rebels on the island of Mindanao, Lynne had leapt at the government’s invitation to interview the leader of the Moro Islamic Liberation Front.

  The MLF leader had provided her a synopsis of his negotiating points and warned her to stay clear of the more radical separatist group, the Abu Sayyaf. A fact known to Atencio, but not Lynne, was that the day she left Mindanao, Abu Sayyaf attacked the unit of the 104th Infantry Brigade that had escorted her during her visit to Barira town. The ambush killed four soldiers and wounded six in a rain of mortar rounds and machine gun fire aimed at disrupting the plebiscite set for the following week.

  Southern Command had learned the Muslim splinter group planned to take Lynne hostage while she accompanied an International Red Cross mission to the remote area. The government ushered her out of danger’s way, offering the excuse that coordination with the town authorities was not complete.

  “We were worried about your safety,” Atencio said. “But now we have a new concern––Chinese expansion in the Spratly Islands.”

  Atencio led her toward their favorite table. Placed by a large palm, the table afforded a panoramic view of the gardens and dining pavilion. He waited until their waiter was out of earshot.

  “President Montalvo is most concerned about the latest intrusion into the Panganiban Reef area by units of the Chinese military and the detention of our fishermen. These actions are unacceptable. Our government is developing a plan to deal with it but we are concerned Washington may not be fully cognizant of the danger to the stability of the region.”

  Lynne ran her fingertip along the edge of her butter knife. She knew the U.S. embassy in Manila was swamped with inquiries from the anxious Philippine press. The majority of these inquiries where framed within the context of the Philippine-American Mutual Defense Treaty. The reporters wanted to know what the United States intended to do about the Chinese.

  The official U.S. position remained firm. The treaty did not apply to the Spratlys. Washington would not take sides on the rival claims of the Philippine and Chinese governments and had signaled it preferred to see any dispute settled peacefully on a bilateral basis.

  Atencio followed Lynne’s finger. “Are you aware an unauthorized trip to the area by thirty-nine local journalists was turned back by the Chinese this morning? We had no prior knowledge of the journalists’ action and first learned of the mishap when an official protest was delivered by the Chinese embassy to the Foreign Ministry. The gist of the note was that the incursion was considered provocative.

  Lynne’s eyes narrowed as she began to formulate the story she’d submit.

  “It would be beneficial to have an impartial observer. I’m afraid the aborted effort of our journalists was well intended, but without coordination with the appropriate governmental agencies and adequate security, they were bound to fail. As it is, the only result was to further complicate the issue.”

  Lynne recognized her cue. “My network has already aired reports of the Chinese actions and President Montalvo’s statements from Malacanang Palace. I could provide additional depth if I was afforded the means to travel to the disputed area.”

  Atencio smiled. “I believe something could be arranged that will prove most beneficial for all of us. I can reach you at the regular number?”

  “Certainly.”

  Lynne collected her car and made the right-hand turn onto Roxas Boulevard intent on returning to her office to prepare for the trip. The road ran parallel to Manila Bay and in front of the American Embassy several hundred yards away. She thought about stopping, but changed her mind and continued past the compound.

  Chapter 5

  SOUTH CHINA SEA

  PALAWAN ISLANDS

  14:26 THURSDAY 6 FEBRUARY

  Lynne exited the cramped military aircraft that had flown her to Palawan Island and came to an abrupt halt, pounded by the heat radiating in rippling waves from the empty tarmac.

  She gathered her gear and began walking toward what appeared to be the terminal building. She had covered half the distance when a jeep careened around the corner of the adjacent hangar and screeched to a stop at her side.

  “Toss your stuff in the back. The captain is anxious to get underway.”

  She interpreted this curt greeting as all the introduction she was going to get and scrambled in.

  The driver gunned the engine and took off with a roar, barreling down the runway without waiting for her to get settled.

  Thrown of
f-balance, she grabbed the seat frame. “How far is it?”

  Her wide-eyed attention was riveted on near-misses of trucks, buses, various farm animals and pedestrians. She doubted they would survive the short trip.

  Twenty harrowing minutes later, they slid to a stop enveloped in a cloud of dust and exhaust. The driver pointed out her destination, a small naval station set within the clutter of the port. He bid farewell without a hint of irony, “Have a safe trip.”

  Lynne looked in the direction the driver indicated and set off for the ship that was to be her home for the next week. An officer detached himself from a group of sailors loading supplies and walked toward her.

  “Ms. Lynne? I am the executive officer, Lieutenant Santos. If you will please follow me?”

  Santos motioned for a sailor to pick up her gear and led the way while providing a brief description of his ship. “The Emilio Jacinto is considered to be the most capable patrol boat in the Philippine Navy. She displaces 710 tons and is armed with a 76mm cannon and four 7.62 machineguns.”

  He completed his narrative as they boarded and led her aft before descending a ladder leading to a tiny room. “You will be using my stateroom. Now, if you will excuse me, my presence is required on deck. The petty officer will help you get settled.”

  Lynne found her way to the bridge after unpacking and found a spot out of the way to observe the crew. The patrol vessel’s bow swung away from the quay and sailors were coiling the dripping forward lines on the deck. No longer tethered to the shore, the vessel’s freedom was announced by a shrill whistle over the ship’s speaker and a loud voice proclaiming, “Underway. Shift colors.”

  Lynne felt the Emilio Jacinto come to life with the gentle lift and fall of the ocean swell as they headed toward the open sea. A green channel marker slipped by.

  Satisfied all was well with his vessel, the ship’s captain motioned Lynne to join him. “Ms. Lynne, I am Captain Reyes. I trust you have found your quarters to your liking?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “Excellent. I will be on the bridge for the next several hours, but if you would join me for dinner, we will review the particulars of our mission.”

  A look of consternation crossed Lynne’s face. At a loss at what to do next, she didn’t move.

  Reyes turned to face her. “You are welcome to stay if you wish. Our destination is First Thomas Shoal, 248 miles from our current location.”

  * * *

  FIRST THOMAS SHOAL

  06:35 FRIDAY 7 FEBRUARY

  Lynne secured the watertight door and stepped out on the weather deck just as the morning sun broke the horizon. The faint odor of diesel fumes greeted her and she could taste the salt in the air. The ocean, royal-blue tipped with white where waves broke over the barrier reef of a small horseshoe-shaped atoll.

  There was already a great deal of activity on board. A knot of sailors clustered near the stern were preparing to launch the small boat she’d seen yesterday.

  The unmistakable whopping sound of an approaching helicopter prompted her to look in its direction. She recognized the aircraft. A Vietnam-era Huey. The muzzle of a machine gun poked out the starboard door. Below the helicopter, two patrol vessels and what appeared to be an ancient World War II ship, an LST.

  Now that’s interesting. I wonder what’s up?

  Lynne turned her attention to the activity around the small boat. Reyes stood watching several Marines load satchels of explosives. He motioned her to join him.

  “Good morning, Captain.”

  “Good morning Ms. Lynne. How are you this fine Navy day?”

  “I couldn’t be better, thank you. I see there is about to be some action?”

  “Ah, yes. The ship’s boat and Marines. We are approaching an illegal maritime buoy the Chinese placed in our waters. It is a hazard to navigation and could endanger our fishermen by leading them onto the reef. I have been ordered to remove it.”

  “And the Huey and other ships?”

  “We are not anticipating any difficulties, but they are accompanying us to prevent any unfortunate accidents if an unsuspecting vessel should approach. We wouldn’t want someone to stumble into harm’s way as we dispose of this marker.”

  “I see,” Lynne said, taking note of the scripted response.

  “The smaller patrol boat is the Romblon, a gunfire support ship.”

  Lynne studied the vessel, thinking Reyes use of ‘ship’ a bit overstated.

  “And there. The ship coming abeam of us, the Salvador Abcede. Her displacement is only 147 tons, but she is our fastest and armed with one 40mm and two 20mm cannon. The amphibious ship is the Kalinga Apoyo. She is transporting reinforcements for our garrison on Pagasa Atoll north of our location.”

  Reyes shifted his feet, anxious to resume supervision of his command.

  “Captain, I apologize for keeping you from your duty.”

  “Yes, if you will excuse me. Our small boat is rigged out ready to be lowered.”

  Reyes took his place on the bridge and maneuvered the Emilio Jacinto to a safe distance while Lynne watched. Her excitement mounted, anticipating the fate of the Chinese channel marker.

  She didn’t wait long. A thunderous explosion rocked the air. The buoy disappeared in a fountain of white water and swirling dirty-brown smoke. The boom of the explosive charge sent a flock of loitering sea birds scattering in disarray. They wheeled in the air, adding squawking protests to the din.

  The sea birds had just settled down when the solitude of the isolated atoll was shattered again. This time, the roar of jet aircraft approaching at wave-top level punctured the quiet of the morning.

  Lynne whirled, seeking the source of the ear-piecing noise. She spotted approaching planes, tensing in fear.

  “They’re ours. F-5s,” the sailor standing next to her volunteered. “Judging from their markings, they’re from the 6th Tactical Fighting Squadron flying out of Villamore Air Force Base. Nothing to worry about.”

  The jets roared overhead, splitting the air with a pair of sonic booms. They vanished to the north as quickly as they had appeared. Only a thin cloud of exhaust and silence remained. Despite their impressive display, Lynne learned that these vintage planes represented almost the entire operational jet aircraft of the Philippine Air Force.

  * * *

  The few curious Chinese who occupied the island were also watching the activity of the new arrivals. Their first reaction to the morning’s events was pleasant surprise, relieving the tedium of their daily existence. As awareness dawned, their good humor was replaced by shock, then anger, as several more buoys were blown out of the water.

  They ran to their command building, jolted into action by the Filipinos. The message the garrison commander sent to his superiors at the PLAN headquarters on Hainan Island was not nearly as positive as the one a chuckling Captain Reyes sent to Cavite Naval Headquarters.

  * * *

  His primary mission complete, Reyes turned his attention to his next goal, the reinforcement of Pagasa Atoll laying one hundred and sixty miles to the northwest. He left the astonished Chinese behind and guided his small flotilla between the PLA installations on Johnson Atoll and Mischief Reef. The PLA forces were now on full alert and itching for a fight.

  * * *

  AT SEA

  17:35

  That evening, Lynne stood on the bridge observing the navigator plot the ship’s course. While the Spratly Islands appeared tightly grouped on her small map, she realized they covered a substantial portion of the ocean. “There are so many islands.”

  “Very few people understand this,” the officer responded. “There are over one-hundred islands and atolls in the South China Sea oriented southwest to northeast, all scattered within this oval-shaped area two-hundred fifty miles wide by five-hundred miles long.”

  Lynne noted a seamount defined by a deep slash crossing the chart. “What’s this?”

  “The Palawan Trench.” The navigator traced his index finger across the chart. “The deep
water is contiguous with the Ryuku Trench extending from the Southern Japanese Islands. American attack submarines ...”

  “Oh?” Lynne said in response to the navigator’s mention of the U.S. ships.

  “Captain on the bridge.”

  The navigator gave way to allow Reyes access to the ship’s compass and chart table.

  “Good evening, Ms. Lynne. I trust the navigator has been informative?”

  “Thank you, Captain, he —”

  “Sir, we were just going to talk about Pagasa Atoll,” the navigator interrupted, afraid he would be reprimanded for mentioning the submarines.

  “Yes, we have occupied the atoll for almost thirty years. It lies barely fifty nautical miles north of the nearest Chinese occupied island. We believe the Chinese moved our missing fishermen to this area.”

  * * *

  Lynne retired to her stateroom armed with Captain Reyes’ insights and the images of what she had witnessed still vivid in her mind. She began to enter meticulous notes on her laptop, beginning with the evening’s discussions dealing with the geopolitical and military significance of the Spratly Islands.

  Reyes had made a point to address the provisions of the United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea. He emphasized that international law gave the Philippines the legal right to contest the occupation of their islands by the Chinese. However, with so many overlapping claims by the six principle countries involved, it was impossible to establish clear boundaries.

  The next piece of the puzzle was the Manila Declaration. The ASEAN countries wrote the document in an effort to prevent the very confrontation that had occurred this past week. It was a futile gesture. Beijing took a divide and conquer approach and refused to sign the accord. They would only participate in bilateral discussions.

  From her research, Lynne knew this point wasn’t lost on the diplomats gathering in Manila. The Philippine Undersecretary of Foreign Affairs spoke for the assembled nations: “You can’t discuss multiple conflicting national claims on a bilateral basis. The nations must negotiate on a multilateral basis to reach our common goal for peace in the region.”